The Memory Trader

Synaptic Veil

I was threading through a crowded market, a melting pot of the city's diverse and desperate, when I first sensed him. It was like a drop in temperature, a shadow over the sun. Turning a corner, I caught a glimpse of him. Milo Jax, unmistakable in his dark enforcer garb, scanning the crowd.

My heart kicked into a higher gear. I'd dealt with enforcers before, but Milo was different. He was relentless, methodical, and I knew he wouldn't give up until he had me in cuffs or worse.

I ducked into an alley, using every trick I knew to lose him in the maze of Neon Veil. I slipped through hidden passages and backstreets, my knowledge of the city's underbelly an advantage I fully intended to exploit.

But as I emerged onto a less crowded street, catching my breath, I realized this was more than a random encounter. Milo was on to me. Someone had tipped him off, or he'd put enough pieces together to start hunting me specifically. The realization sent a chill down my spine.

I needed to be more careful, more strategic. My trades, my movements, my interactions – they all had to be calculated with Milo in mind. He was a new variable in the already complex equation of my life, and one wrong move could spell disaster.

As I vanished into the night, I couldn't help but feel the tightening noose of the corporate grip on Neon Veil. For people like Milo, control was everything. But for people like me, freedom was worth every risk.

The night was unusually quiet in Neon Veil as I made my way to the outskirts of the city. The towering skyscrapers gave way to dilapidated buildings, the glow of the neon lights dimming to a faint whisper. This was where Cassian Grey, the enigmatic keeper of secrets, had chosen to seclude himself.

Cassian was a legend in certain circles – a former corporate scientist turned rogue, now an oracle of hidden knowledge. Rumors said he knew everything about everyone in Neon Veil, especially the things they wanted to keep buried.

His hideout was an old warehouse, disguised amidst the urban decay. I entered cautiously, my senses alert. Inside, amidst a clutter of old tech and books, Cassian awaited, his appearance as disheveled as his surroundings.

"Rax Synthia," he greeted, his voice a gravelly whisper. "I wondered when you'd come seeking my services."

"I need information," I said, cutting straight to the chase. "About a memory fragment. It's... personal."

Cassian's eyes, sharp and piercing, seemed to look right through me. "Ah, digging into your own past, are you? That's a dangerous path, Memory Trader."

I hesitated, then handed him the data chip Zane had given me. Cassian inspected it, his fingers moving with surprising deftness. After a moment, he inserted the chip into an old, humming machine.

Images flickered on the screen, disjointed and hazy. Scenes from my own past, or so it seemed – but nothing I recognized. Cassian watched me closely, his expression unreadable.

"The past is a tricky thing," he mused. "Especially when it's not just your own. You're entangled in something far greater than you realize, Rax."

His words were cryptic, but they struck a chord. A sense of unease settled over me, a feeling that I was on the edge of a precipice, about to uncover truths I wasn't sure I wanted to know.

Cassian offered no further explanation, only a warning. "Be careful, Rax Synthia. Some memories are best left buried."

I left the warehouse with more questions than answers, the weight of Cassian's warning heavy on my mind. Something was unraveling, and I was at the center of it – whether I liked it or not.